


How to Human 101

by dhwty_writes



Series: Geraskier One-Shots [20]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Deity Jaskier | Dandelion, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Humor, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Two Idiots Being Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhwty_writes/pseuds/dhwty_writes
Summary: Geralt has somehow acquired the company of a young god, who's still learning how to be in the possession of a body as well as trying to understand humans. And who also really would like a bite from his cupcake.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier One-Shots [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931821
Comments: 12
Kudos: 162





	How to Human 101

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: You might be a god: BUT DONT YOU DARE TOUCH MY CUPCAKE!!! 
> 
> Anon, I love you. This was a great prompt! I also already failed the “short ficlet” part. Enjoy 1.2k words of bantering idiots! Where did all of this come from? I've got no idea but boy would I like more of it.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said menacingly, his voice a low growl that would have sent most humans running while screaming in terror. “No.”

“But Geralt,” he whined instead, batting his eyelashes, “are you truly this cruel a man to deny me of the basest pleasures?”

“Yes. Stop it.” He bared his teeth in order to keep his façade from softening. Another thing that would have put any ordinary man to flight.

But Jaskier was no ordinary man. Strictly speaking, he was no man at all. So, he did not hesitate to drape himself dramatically across Geralt’s lap, his wrist theatrically pressed to his forehead while he sighed wistfully; a gesture he had undoubtedly copied from one of the atrocious plays he enjoyed so much. “’Tis true, your heart bears no love for me. Surely I shall perish in despair while hopelessly longing for but a shred of affection bestowed upon me by my dearest and most devout follower.”

He growled again, shoving at his shoulder in a feeble attempt to push him away, even though he knew he wouldn’t succeed. “Your only follower, you mean.”

Jaskier gasped in mock offence, clutching at his chest. “How dare you, dear witcher mine?” he chattered. “I assure you, you are not my only follower by a stretch. Although, you are certainly the one doing the worst job of staying in my favour. I would appreciate it, if you could multiply your efforts, thank you very much.” The theatrics had reached another level in the past few weeks. Had they met a group of travelling mummers recently? He couldn’t remember.

Then again, Jaskier was right. He wasn’t his only follower—he wasn’t even a follower, really, Jaskier had started following him, not the other way around—and there were many times when he vanished to follow another call for his attention. Well, whoever had taught him that, Geralt would like to have a serious conversation with them. What were they doing, running around and teaching the most ostentatious being he had ever crossed paths with how to be even more pretentious?

“Here’s the thing,” he replied, this time unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk off his face, “no matter how often you multiply zero, the outcome stays the same. Don’t they teach you math where you come from?”

“ _Don’t they teach you math where you come from?_ ” he mocked him. “For the record, they don’t. You humans think you’re so smart for inventing numbers while you miss the entire point.”

“Not a human.”

He shrugged. “Human, witcher, dwarf. You’re mortal, the differences are trivial.”

Geralt waited for him to elaborate further. He didn’t, much too preoccupied with growing his fingernails and biting them off again, a thing he had seen a child do not three days past. After the third repetition, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he relented. “What’s the point?”

“What point?” Jaskier asked innocently, now attempting to rip the fingernails off instead of biting. “Ouch!” he exclaimed after accidentally removing the whole thing. Fascinated, he observed the blood flowing from the wound. “Look, Geralt,” he said excitedly, “I’m bleeding!”

He rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “Congratulations, you have a body.”

“Yes, well, I am rather new to this whole body-business, so—”

“The point, Jaskier,” he interrupted him. They weren’t getting anywhere like this. “You said numbers weren’t the point, what is it then?”

“Oh.” He appeared genuinely taken aback by the question. After a moment of deliberation, he said: “It’s obvious.” Apparently, that was all he had to say on that matter, for he scrambled up so that he was straddling Geralt’s lap, resting his chin on his chest. “Will you let me have your cupcake?” he asked again.

“No,” Geralt said again. “I haven’t had a cupcake in months.”

“So mean.” The pout on his face was adorable. But not quite adorable enough to change the witcher’s mind. “Well, I _never_ had a cupcake before.”

“You can make one out of thin air!”

“But that’s not the same.” He wiggled closed, batting his eyelashes again. “Pleeeaase?”

“No!” He tried shoving him off again. “Fuck off.” He didn’t budge. A witcher might seem an immortal among men, but what was the strength of an immortal against a god?

For that was exactly what Jaskier was: a god, albeit a young one who had only recently acquired a corporeal form and who was still testing its limits as well as those of Geralt’s patience. “Halfsies?”

“No. You might be a god, but don’t you dare touch my cupcake!”

“No fair,” he pouted again. “I sha- _oof_.” A blank expression took over Jaskier’s face, jaw slack, eyes glazing over. Several months had passed since the initial panic of seeing him in such a state; by now Geralt knew how to recognise the look of a follower calling upon their patron.

A few moments passed before Jaskier shook out of it. “Uagh,” he said, opening and closing his mouth as if he had just tasted something particularly disgusting.

“Prayer?” Geralt prompted.

“Worse. A talentless wastrel who dared to call upon me in need of inspiration.” He sighed and slumped down again. “They don’t get it, Geralt, it’s worse than numbers. Inspiration is just the rainfall to water your budding crops. But nothing—neither god nor devil nor in-between—can cause a barren field to flourish. I just—”

“Jaskier,” he interrupted him dutifully, “you have to go.”

“I don’t wanna,” he mumbled, resembling a temper tantrum throwing toddler more than the divine being he was.

“You have to. You’ve got your job, I’ve got mine.” He pulled him close against his chest for a moment. “Go,” he whispered against the crown of his hair, “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Alright.” Jaskier gifted him one last bright smile and then he was gone.

The witcher sat up with a sigh. “Finally,” he muttered to Roach, “some peace and quiet.”

He stretched out languidly, enjoying the delightful space, ready to enjoy an equally delightful cupcake. He raised it to his mouth, inhaled the delicious scent, and—halted. He looked around warily, half expecting to see the young God of Music and Deceit standing nearby, sniggering.

But he wasn’t. There was no-one there besides him and Roach.

“Damned godlet,” Geralt cursed as he got to his feet, fetching his pack. “Making me go all soft.”

After rummaging around for a bit, he managed to procure a small bowl with a simple symbol affixed to one side: a lute with buttercups twining around it; the first miracle Jaskier had worked in the mortal realm, a miniature shrine for his first follower.

“I want you to know that I am very cross with you for this,” he grumbled as he broke the cupcake in half, depositing one in the bowl. “I would’ve loved to enjoy this on my own, but I can’t anymore and it’s all your fault. There. Here’s your halfsies.” He got to his feet to stomp back to his bedroll, but hesitated for just one moment. Then, silently, he added: ‘Come back soon.’

And somehow, sillily, selfishly, he found himself wishing his earlier words to be true: ‘Would that I were your only follower. Would that you could always stay with me.’

Then he turned his back, sillily stomping to his bedroll. A shame that he did, for that made him miss the answer carried on the evening breeze: ‘ _I always was; I always am; I always will be._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> As always, leave a comment and a kudo or come over to chat with me on [tumblr](https://dhwty-writes.tumblr.com/) if you liked it! Also, feel free to come and send me a few prompts in honor of me completing my exams.


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